Page 11 of Two days, One Pucking Night

“Ha-ha-ha. Very funny.” I roll my eyes, pop the bottle, and pour myself a glass. “And stop calling me that!” I pour another one and hand it to him.

Xavier takes the glass and the seat to my left, the space between us divided by the champagne bottle. “What are we toasting to?”

I raise my glass and angle the instant camera. “To life.”

“To life,” Xavier repeats my words, raising his glass to mine.

Clink.

“And living in the present, as if there’s no tomorrow.”

Clink.

“To living in the moment, and whatever the future holds.”

Clink.

I down the drink and drape my hands over the chair, my head arched back. “This is nice.”

Silence fills the space. A comfortable and easy silence. A silence birthed from the unspoken comfort and understanding between two friends. Everything he and I are not. And for some reason, that scares me. He scares me.

3

XAVIER

My phone rings, and Zayn’s name appears on the Facetime call. He is the last person I want to see right now, especially since I spent the last hour in his penthouse envisioning his baby sister in inappropriate ways. Very inappropriate ways.

“Xav, thanks for today. I appreciate you.” Zayn’s face appears on the screen, and I watch as he navigates through several rooms in his massive mansion. Stacks of books line the walls behind him as he settles into one of his offices.

“How is she? She isn’t picking up any of my calls.”

This news doesn’t surprise me. I can vividly remember the scowl on Sofia’s face and the change in her demeanor when my big mouth mentioned that Zayn had me tailing her. The image is ingrained in my mind, memorialized, a silent warning to ensure I’m never the one who puts a look like that on her face. Why? I’m not sure. That is something I’m still trying to process.

“It might have something to do with you putting a tracker on her without her permission,” I don’t intend the words to be condescending, but too bad. Zayn, of all people, should know how it feels when your privacy is violated.

Shame washes over his face, and for a moment, he is silent, as if in deep thought. “My mom’s doing.” He releases a resigned sigh. “And she can be very persistent when she wants to get her way. But still. I should have said no.”

“You got a lot of apologizing to do.”

“Trust me, I’ve already started. How long are you going to be staying down there?”

“Until Monday.”

“You hightailed out of San Fran.”

“Don’t remind me,” I mutter, running my hands through my hair.

He laughs. “Don’t tell me it’s another groupie issue.”

I may or may not have picked up a reputation for attracting women who have a tendency to cling to me, and whatever fame they can get from the moment. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I also haven’t been doing anything actively to curb it.

I rise from the bed, shifting from one foot to the other. The city's night view looks fantastic at this time of the evening. “I missed London,” I lie. It’s the only thing I can think of to get him off my ass. Zayn is like a dog with a bone. Once he sets his sights on something, it’s impossible to shift his attention from it, hence Bree.

My throat is suddenly dry, and my hands are clammy. I hate lying like this, and I especially hate that I’m keeping this a secret from him. But this was a decision I needed to make alone, and I knew Zayn’s influence would only steer me in one direction. And I need to weigh all my options before deciding my next steps.

Zayn clears his throat, and my stomach drops, anticipating what he will ask next.

“How are your mom and dad? Have you spoken or seen them since you got there?”

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